


Mouth to Mouth

by electricteatime



Series: Project Prompt Fill (DGHDA Edition) [2]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Boys In Love, Brotzly - Freeform, Drabble, Kissing, M/M, Prompt Fill, suggestively sexy in the middle, vaguely poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricteatime/pseuds/electricteatime
Summary: They're quick. Theyre sweet. They're gentle. They're desperate. They're heavy.A promise made, a promise kept. A simple gesture for the same three words that can never be taken away.Prompt fill for:  If you're still taking Brotzly prompts: What are their kisses like?





	Mouth to Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by anonymous: If you're still taking Brotzly prompts: What are their kisses like?

 

_What are their kisses like?_

 

They’re quick things. Cheeks and foreheads and noses and lips, top of the head if it’s managed before morning coffee when ducking away is less likely. More often than not they’re accompanied by “stay safe” and “you’re an idiot”, in softer moments it’s “don’t forget to pick up some milk,” and “wear the green one today.” Fleeting and brief, but always a bright spot and never failing to pull smiles to faces for a moment, always left grinning a little brighter than before. **  
**

They're sweet things. Giggling and happy, bumping heads and fumbling for hands in the dark. Lacing fingers together and pressed to the scrunches of noses. Rolled eyes and fond smiles, meeting “shut up” with “make me.” Rewards for cases solved or jobs well done, feather light against sensitive skin designed to bring laughter. Tips of fingers sticky with chocolate, against pouts that are holding back not-so-secret amusement. Just because it'll bring a smile, just because it's far past midnight, just because they were apart for a minute and missed the taste. Just because.

They’re gentle things. Laced with something else when it’s private, lips pressed against temples to soothe the ache of the constant droning of the universe, or brushed softly over knuckles blooming with bruises. Quietly reaffirming “I’m here,” or “you’re safe”, sealing the promise against cheeks once the tears have been brushed away, noses buried in hair while waiting for the trembling to subside. Mouths pressed together to silence apologies for the things they can’t possibly control. Things they wish could be taken away.

They’re desperate things. Heat of the moment, uncaring who sees, pulled in by the collar or a hand wrapped around a tie because “I thought-” and “you were-” and “don’t ever-”. Messy with clashing teeth, flooded with anger and relief, with too many words clogging up throats and spilling out behind eyelids. Pulled in close, closer, hands pressed against chests to feel the steady pounding of hearts, beating far too fast but still there. Still here. Far too much for standing in the street, but laced with an undeniable fear that can’t be ignored. A reassurance that fades slowly and softly into “can we just go home?” Gripping hands too tightly all the way back and not letting go until sunrise.

They’re heavy things. Hot and dragging, drawn out and stumbling backwards, shoving at jackets and tugging at belts. Breathy laughter and almost-not-quite falling over, always pressing closer with fingers fumbling over buttons and the sharp intake of breath that comes with skin against skin. Heady and insistent, pinned down by the weight of another. Climbing into laps and meeting head on, or higher than usual if the angles are right. Hands gripping hips and clutching at shoulders, half bitten curses and names whispered into mouths. The wet slide of lips together and then away, chased by teeth and tongues down necks to pant hot breaths into collarbones, heads too heavy and rested on shoulders, but always circling back round to where they started, silencing the very sounds they created. Eyes screwed closed with hands in hair, thoughts of anything else chased away by wants, by needs, by the trembling of thighs and the tightening of stomachs. The hazy eyes in the dazed after, the soft smiles and lingering touches. The childish laughter at the realisation that despite all of their best efforts, they didn’t make it out of their clothes.

They’re important things. “I’m sorry,” followed with “I forgive you.” Asking to be heard, acknowledged, or even believed. Erasing the past, reminders of the present, suggestions of the future. Things often seen by others, but made to be kept for themselves. Strength and silliness, kindness and healing. Sometimes angry or fearful or distressed, but never cruel, never unwelcome. Something hopeful and warm, something to always be treasured.

They’re everything. Soft and quiet, loud and unapologetic, full of tears and full of laughter, stolen away and given freely. They’re a reminder, a reassurance, a statement, a message. They’re unspoken words that are shouted out into the vastness of space, a brush of lips and a hand in a hand that echoes through the entire universe, reverberating through creation to come crashing like a wave back to the ears that were meant to hear them. A promise made, a promise kept. A simple gesture for the same three words that can never be taken away.

Something like, “you are mine”. Something like, “I am yours”. Something like, “I love you”.

And always unflinchingly, unfailingly repeating:

You are loved.

You are loved.

You are loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this got away from me, but hopefully some of you enjoyed it!
> 
> I am currently accepting prompts over at kieren-fucking-walker.tumblr.com but make no guarantee they will be filled (I'm a human disaster.)
> 
> Please let me know if you liked this. Or hated it even! All comments are good comments.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
